


Peace talks

by Cirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fëanorian Week 2018, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Oath of Fëanor, Silmarils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: After the War of Wrath two remaining Feanorian come to Eönwë to demand their heritage. Sauron comes to beg for pardon. What if the two parties met?





	Peace talks

A Maia made his way through the camp of victorious Vanyar, Maiar and occasional Valar (though these he was careful to omit in far range). He moved like a burglar, quietly slipping through one shadow to the other as to not to attract unwanted attention.

Once known as Sauron the Deceiver, Gorthaur the Cruel, Lord of Werewolves now walked in the disguise of a simple Noldo, in an elf form, plain grey hooded cloak covered his common face and not-glinting eyes from any possible too curious look. Perhaps it was an exorbitancy, the crowd around was drunk in victory, no one gave him a second glance.

Although his physical mask have been perfect, every and each spirit around seemed fooled by it, his mental state was far less stable. One moment he had everything, he was on the very top – well, second to Melkor only but that he could concede to – the other the Valar kept everything from him, his position, his power, his _master_.

His first thought was to kill them all, destroy the western invaders as they’ve ruined his world but that was not possible. He had fought already and killed many, they all had, all Angband troops were send in the field, and they all lost. It was the complete and utter defeat, Lord Melkor himself had been captured, judged and sent to the Void. Sauron shuddered from the sorrow and anger the fresh memory caused. He’d kill them all most willingly, but that path would end in his own demise. And though loyal servant to great power of Melkor he was most his life, he wasn’t prepared to follow his master into the Void. Not yet.

So he came up with the best plan of how to survive. Once upon a time, very long ago, he was also Mairon, a friend to Eönwë. Sauron had nearly forgotten what the word friendship means, but maybe it still held importance to Eönwë. That was what he counted on. That and his skill to bent people to his own purposes with silver-tongued speeches. He had a great oration prepared: about blissful past in Valinor, about fear and weakness that held tighter than chains, about friendship and love and Niënna’s teachings of mercy at last. It should work if only Eönwë will let him speak of which he wasn’t that certain will happen. The other Maia could as well order to kill him the moment he recognizes him as an enemy of the Valar Host.

Lost in his swirling thoughts he had almost missed a familiar presence. Unable to deny himself this little amusement he paused to tell if he was right. He didn’t see him yet but concentrating on the other’s mind he sensed the well-known to him endurance and self-loathing. Stronger than when he was tortured, kept in the dungeon without light or hope, but no less determined. Sauron smirked.

 

* * *

 

 

\- They have no right to held it from us, it is our legacy, our curse-, - spat Maedhros at him when they walked back from Eönwë’s tent after being denied the Silmarils.

Maglor had tentatively suggested perhaps it was for the best. He was starting to regret it now, as his older brother went on for longer without a break than Maglor had ever heard him since Thangorodrim.

\- countless blood that we’ve spilt, the lives of our little brothers I’ve sacrificed sending them to yet another kinslay and now you dare to tell me maybe we should-

The oldest Feanorion stopped suddenly in speech and stride alike and this time it was not the indignation that swallowed his words. At least not the same kind as before. Maglor could feel the disturbance in the forces of the universe, invisible matters shivering as wrath and disgust and fear rolled off Maedhros seconds before he drew out his sword.

\- Brother- - Maglor started but Maedhros did not listen.

He turned to the inconspicuous-looking elf in a whirl of steel and red cloak, and put the sword tip to the wretch’s throat. The threatened one uttered a cry of distress and took a precautionary step back, holding out his unarmored arms.

\- It’s you, - Maedhros spoke barely recognizable, so hard his teeth were clenched. His hand shook, his eyes burned with such a cold fire of hate Maglor drew back despite himself.

\- My lord, - the other elf said and his voice did not quite tremble from fear but was close to it. Maglor was sure he didn’t hear him before. – Surely you mistake me with someone else.

He slowly took his hood off. Maglor did not know him. He did not understand the whole situation. There was nothing aloof in the elf’s posture, he seemed a common Noldo by all measures, yet Maedhros looked stricken as if he saw a ghost or Morgoth himself. Hate, repulsion and dread coming from him in waves almost choked the singer.

\- You lie like you always do, – hissed Maedhros, his voice a horrid screech. - You cannot speak the truth through the that foul mouth of yours. How dare you even come here? After everything you did, you spawn of the devil, you demon, you-

Maglor watched, helplessly, as his brother presses the sword a bit harder, causing the bead of blood appear on the other’s throat. Maedhros’ face was twisted in such a terrible grimace Maglor did not witness even on the battlefield. Just as Maglor thought the stranger would die, the flap to Eönwë’s tent lifted up and herald of Manwë himself emerged.

\- What is happening here? – he bellowed at them. – Feanorion, already you draw the sword against your kin?

For one long terrible moment Maglor thought Maedhros would kill the other elf despite Maia’s interference but then he saw his brother relax gradually, his will strong as steel he wielded forcing his body under tense control.

\- He’s not my kin, - he said, a little more like himself. – Yours, maybe.

Then he drew back his sword, sheathed it with one fluid motion.

\- Do not listen to this evildoer, - he addressed Eönwë though his eyes never left the Noldo before him, - don’t make the same mistake as you did with Morgoth once.

He walked away stiffly. Maglor followed him, confused, even more so when he spotted the stranger smirking slightly to himself the moment Maedhros turned.


End file.
